


Washed Up

by ghostofagoodidea



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Fan Statement
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-09
Updated: 2020-05-09
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:20:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24087274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostofagoodidea/pseuds/ghostofagoodidea
Summary: Statement of Edward Lukas, regarding a body he found during his work as lighthouse keeper in Draughanstown, Muir Eireann. Statement given November 18,  1986
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	Washed Up

[STATEMENT BEGINS]  
I chose my work for a reason. Considering your position, you've probably heard about my family and our attraction towards isolation. It can not be surprising then that I chose to find my work in Draughanstown. I only spent about an hour there before deciding to stay on the shore. You find all sorts of stuff there, mostly worthless. Sometimes you'll find something interesting, one time a seal washed up, a rough bite taken out of its side, but that was as interesting as it got, at least until September of last year.  
The storm was one of the biggest I’d seen, almost taking down the tower. By the end the town was in quite a state, not that I cared very much. I was too busy with my own work: cleaning up, keeping the light on, walking the beach. It wasn’t until later that I first noticed the body. I didn’t recognize it, so it could well have been from the town, but I wouldn’t have known. Not after the sea had turned it to jerky, the greyish skin stretched across its fleshless bones, the captain’s uniform that clung to its body faded and torn, but clearly from a place far away or long ago. I must’ve known what to do. It’s easy really. I should’ve called the police, or the mortuary but I just couldn't. No matter what I did, I just couldn’t bring myself to tell anyone, let alone touch it.  
Now I need you to understand, I’m not a germaphobe, I wasn’t squeamish about touching a body. I was physically unable to touch it. The best I could do was reach out before my hand pulled back, as if someone had grabbed my wrist. So the captain stayed, splayed out on the sand, the waves lapping at its emaciated form, and I went about my work; cleaning up, keeping the light on, walking the beach. And then, one night, it started to sing. High and raspy, it’s voice cutting through the air. I didn’t sleep much that night, just lay in bed, listening to it. It sang about death, deaths innumerable, deaths unjust, its own, grizzly death. It was near nonsense, with the rhythm of a marching song and the tone of something to be played at a funeral but it was beautiful. I wish I could supply to you what it said exactly but I find I either can not remember, or the song was in a language I do not understand. But still, with no way of getting rid of the captain I continued my work; cleaning up, keeping the light on, walking the beach. And the captain continued his, performing his symphony of loss every night. Eventually I was able to sleep. The song was familiar as the wind and almost became a comfort in a way. After nearly ten months of hearing the captain's lullaby I barely noticed when it began to change. Where once the lyrics were vague and repetitive it became eerily specific. I don’t believe I would have realized if not for the name it chose first, that of the man who would ring me up the few times I would go to town for groceries. The next time I went shopping I instead found a tired young woman I knew to be his daughter who informed me her father had been murdered about a week prior, his body found with six stab wounds in the back. I only wish I could have told her what a surprise it was.  
This continued for three months, each week the captain chose someone new and would sing and sing, going into more and more detail each day until the person died, always in a different but gruesome way, the only consistency being where the bodies were found; in the middle of the road, heading towards the shore.  
I left the town after the captain killed a child, no older than four. Still, I keep hearing the song. It’s muffled but it still won’t stop. I can’t sleep anymore. I keep listening to it. I’ve started memorizing it, trying to map its next move. The captain has started saying my name. I only hope that my telling you this will make him stop.  
[STATEMENT ENDS]  
Archivists notes: One more for the rubbish bin. Evidently, this man was suffering from very severe hallucinations. I cannot hypothesize as to their origin, but these reports are in line with a number of common conditions, likely exacerbated by loneliness. It can be surmised that under this strain, even the hardiest of individuals might have found themselves falling onto the rocks. Draughanstown PD reported a man matching Mr. Lukas' description washed up on the shore of a nearby beach, though it is impossible to identify him with certainty due to the state of the body. Reports of 'strange singing' from the villagers have been met with the appropriate concern from the local authorities.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first piece of fiction I've written that was longer than like a paragraph so it might not be great but I hope you enjoyed it! :)  
> Thanks a bunch to my friend Bast for helping me work it out (check out their tumblr blog @bastardoftheblade for some top notch art or check out mine for nothing particularly interesting @ghostofagoodidea. Thanks again for reading!


End file.
